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trista_zevkiaTitle: Take the Noise from Me
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH Major Bummer, Un-Beta'd, it's just a quick little thing for my own use.
Summary: They want to take his duckie away.
Disclaimer: All monies made will go to seducing people to the world of Wodehouse, even if it means making them watch the Fry and Laurie DVD’s.
Author's Notes: Based on the cute picture of a Victorian Era rubber duckie. So WTF brain?
Duckie Picture
Meadowes clomps into my room, tea cup rattling in the saucer. It’s way too early in the ack emma to wake, but I’m a guest at Easeby, uncle's place in Shropshire. The tea was set down and the curtains thrown open, so the sun could poke at me with sharpened sticks.
“Five more minutes, Meadowes. There’s a good chap.” I mutter, knowing it’s useless.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those that are a slave to their valets! I draw a firm line, as the man is my employee and not the other way. But as a guest, I am a slave to the home I visit, even if it is my flesh and blood. The owner of the home is my f. and b., not the house. At least it’s my Uncle Willoughby and not any of my Aunts.
“Breakfast is ready, Wooster.”
Meadowes isn’t the most polite chap for a valet and he practically drags me out of bed, laying hands on the young master. Sometimes I wonder why I hired him, why I pay his wages, but he does his job, so I don’t have it in me to sack him. When I’m dressed, I follow Meadowes to the dining room. He provides me with a plate of food, substandard, but as a guest in the house it’s not right to complain. I should have the day to myself, wandering the grounds and perusing a bit of a spine tingler. I’m about to do so, when Meadowes reappears. He doesn’t announce the man behind him, and I’m given another reason to hand Meadowes the mitten.
“Who do we have here?”
“This is Bertie Wooster, sir.”
I look up, to see who Meadowes has decided to be polite to, and find myself staring at stern chap who stares at me with the same authoritative aspect of my old school master.
“I’ve read about him, fascinating case. What’s that in his hand?”
“His rubber duck, sir. Keeps him calm.”
I look, and see Duckie is indeed in my left hand. Why would I bring him out of the bathroom? I get a mental picture, a dingy grey washroom with several men standing around in matching pajamas, so I couldn’t leave Duckie there. Except, I don’t remember where the washroom with all those people is, nor why I would have ever been in there. I’m a guest at my uncle's place in Shropshire, a country home with gardens. Meadowes is my personal valet, even if I occasionally see him helping other people.
“I don’t think I’m going to use my method, the Glossop Method on this one. He’s had the duck for years and made no progress.”
This Glossop is looking at me like a particularly interesting specimen under a piece of glass, and I’ve been stared at that way before. I look back at Duckie. He always stares, but he never judges.
“Take the toy away.” Glossop’s voice, and I wonder who has a toy that offends him so.
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Wooster will make no progress toward normalcy while holding onto that stupid toy.”
“Yes, sir.” Meadowes sounds annoyed, but does as instructed.
Doesn’t do what I tell him, so why’s he doing what this Glossop chap says? Wait, he’s trying to take my Duckie! I scream, pulling Duckie to me, the way I couldn’t pull my parents to me when they fell from the train platform. They fell, I screamed and decided to never stop screaming, so I scream now until the staff, the orderlies and doctors all come as I fight with Meadowes, screaming and pulling at Duckie! Sharpness in arm, but I’ve got Duckie cradled to me as I fall.
J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B
I wake to the night and I’m back in my own room. The thin mattress on the old cot and the private room is all down to my Aunt Agatha. She put me here, after my parents, after I killed them, walking away to look in a store window. They screamed my name, ran for me and fell. The sound of train wheels, my fault, my fault, my fault. To cover up the sound, I scream, and scream, even when Meadowes comes in, dressing me up in something with too many buckles. The gag muffles my scream, but I still scream to cover the noise. There’s talking around me, but it doesn’t help against the noise in my head.
“Shut him up, Meadowes!”
“He won’t shut up without that damn duck!”
“Stupid doctor, ‘nerve specialist’ who doesn’t know how to keep these idiots calm.”
“Damn right, he doesn’t have to put up with the noise.”
“I’m going to dig that thing out of the trash.”
Meadowes snorts, annoyed at the other man for something. “After I pried it from Wooster, Glossop took it.”
“Damn! How long can Wooster keep this up?”
“Until he loses consciousness.”
“No doctors here to give him the drugs.”
“Other ways of doing it.”
“You’re supposed to be teaching me how to do this, Meadowes. So teach me.”
“My pleasure.”
I don’t like the low chuckle Meadowes gives, before he pulls me to a sitting position. I scream at him, try to tell him I’d be grateful for anything that stops the noise.
“The crazies hurt themselves all the time.” Meadowes says, before pulling me forward. He shoves backward and I hit something as hard as a brick wall.
J<3B ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ J<3B
I scream until everything hurts, my body from the needles, my throat from the screaming and my heart from the guilt. I scream, begging the universe to make it stop, all the noise and pain. It’s my fault, my fault, make it stop, let me stop!
“Sir, I have brought you something.” A soft, gentle voice, so out of place here.
I turn to see him, beg him to stop the noise. It’s hard to move, as I can’t remember the last time I could use my arms, but someone else helps. He turns me, and a see a strange sight. Kind eyes, dark eyebrows, dark hair, miraculously clean in this nightmare of a place. He’s got something on his noise, a bandage of some sort, and he’s wearing the same clothes I am. Well, not the same clothes, that would be awkward and a bit indecent. He’s wearing the washed out white clothes of patients, but on him they look neat.
“Mr. Wooster, I heard you lost something.”
Like a magician or some theatrical production, his hand moves and Duckie’s there. I stop, stop screaming, waiting for the noise. The kind man understands and gives Duckie a gentle squeeze, and I hear the sweetest sound in the world.
“What’d you do to that man?” A harsh voice breaks in, and I look up to see Meadowes stomping toward us.
“I found something of his, and was simply returning it.”
The kind man glances at Meadowes, but turns back so he can keep Duckie where I can see him.
Meadowes looks from me to the kind man, but comes to a quick decision. He gets to where he can speak softly to the kind man, threading a grubby hand in his hair and pulling.
It looks painful, but the kind man doesn’t resist, still keeping Duckie where I can see him. Duckie hears the words Meadowes speaks, absorbs them into his yellow, his spot of brightness in a dark place. Duckie takes in the words so they can’t hurt me, covering up the my fault, my fault of the train in my head.
“I heard about you. I don’t know how you got the judge to put you here instead of hard labor, but I won’t put up with it. You try any of that unnatural invert stuff on my watch, and it’ll be more than your nose that gets broke. You hear me, Reggie?”
“Yes sir.”
The kind man was very polite, but I could see something in his eyes. It took a while to place it, something I hadn’t seen much since I was tossed in here. Defiance, intelligence, a conviction that he was right? They’d probably beat that out of him before he was let out, beat him until he was cured of whatever his sin was.
“Good boy, Reggie.” Meadowes gives the dark hair a violent shake before releasing him.
“Sir, may I assist Mr. Wooster in removing the straight jacket?”
“Keep him quiet.” Meadowes turns and stomps away, out the door of my small cell.
When I look back at the kind man, this Reggie, he’s smoothed his hair back into place. He’s touching me, undoing the jacket I’m wearing, but so gently I don’t really feel it. He pulls it off, and blocks my view of Duckie for a moment. Before I can scream, Duckie is back and I try to convince numb arms to grab him so nobody can take him away again. My arm only flops, catching Reggie on the shoulder. He seems to understand, and puts my arm on Duckie. Gently, he pushes my arm so that Duckie is cradled to my chest. Should I thank him or warn him about the torture of being force feed? My raw, dry voice only manages a strange sound, but he understands.
“My name is Jeeves. Reginald Jeeves.”
I can’t speak, so I smile at him.
I perceived dearly that this cove was one of the world's workers, the sort no home should be without. For a moment I felt as if somebody had touched off a bomb inside the old bean and was strolling down my throat with a lighted torch, and then everything seemed suddenly to get all right. The sun shone in through the window; birds twittered in the tree-tops; and, generally speaking, hope dawned once more.*
*From Jeeves Takes Charge, this is how Bertie describes Jeeves restorative. Thought it appropriate, as in this story Jeeves is the restorative.
Right, and this is to take the taste of that out of your mouth!Ruber Duckie, he's the One!
Author: Trista_zevkia
Chapter: 1/1
Fandom: Jeeves and Wooster
Characters/Pairing: Bertie/Jeeves
Rating: PG-17
Warnings: SLASH Major Bummer, Un-Beta'd, it's just a quick little thing for my own use.
Summary: They want to take his duckie away.
Disclaimer: All monies made will go to seducing people to the world of Wodehouse, even if it means making them watch the Fry and Laurie DVD’s.
Author's Notes: Based on the cute picture of a Victorian Era rubber duckie. So WTF brain?
Duckie Picture
Meadowes clomps into my room, tea cup rattling in the saucer. It’s way too early in the ack emma to wake, but I’m a guest at Easeby, uncle's place in Shropshire. The tea was set down and the curtains thrown open, so the sun could poke at me with sharpened sticks.
“Five more minutes, Meadowes. There’s a good chap.” I mutter, knowing it’s useless.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those that are a slave to their valets! I draw a firm line, as the man is my employee and not the other way. But as a guest, I am a slave to the home I visit, even if it is my flesh and blood. The owner of the home is my f. and b., not the house. At least it’s my Uncle Willoughby and not any of my Aunts.
“Breakfast is ready, Wooster.”
Meadowes isn’t the most polite chap for a valet and he practically drags me out of bed, laying hands on the young master. Sometimes I wonder why I hired him, why I pay his wages, but he does his job, so I don’t have it in me to sack him. When I’m dressed, I follow Meadowes to the dining room. He provides me with a plate of food, substandard, but as a guest in the house it’s not right to complain. I should have the day to myself, wandering the grounds and perusing a bit of a spine tingler. I’m about to do so, when Meadowes reappears. He doesn’t announce the man behind him, and I’m given another reason to hand Meadowes the mitten.
“Who do we have here?”
“This is Bertie Wooster, sir.”
I look up, to see who Meadowes has decided to be polite to, and find myself staring at stern chap who stares at me with the same authoritative aspect of my old school master.
“I’ve read about him, fascinating case. What’s that in his hand?”
“His rubber duck, sir. Keeps him calm.”
I look, and see Duckie is indeed in my left hand. Why would I bring him out of the bathroom? I get a mental picture, a dingy grey washroom with several men standing around in matching pajamas, so I couldn’t leave Duckie there. Except, I don’t remember where the washroom with all those people is, nor why I would have ever been in there. I’m a guest at my uncle's place in Shropshire, a country home with gardens. Meadowes is my personal valet, even if I occasionally see him helping other people.
“I don’t think I’m going to use my method, the Glossop Method on this one. He’s had the duck for years and made no progress.”
This Glossop is looking at me like a particularly interesting specimen under a piece of glass, and I’ve been stared at that way before. I look back at Duckie. He always stares, but he never judges.
“Take the toy away.” Glossop’s voice, and I wonder who has a toy that offends him so.
“Sir?”
“You heard me. Wooster will make no progress toward normalcy while holding onto that stupid toy.”
“Yes, sir.” Meadowes sounds annoyed, but does as instructed.
Doesn’t do what I tell him, so why’s he doing what this Glossop chap says? Wait, he’s trying to take my Duckie! I scream, pulling Duckie to me, the way I couldn’t pull my parents to me when they fell from the train platform. They fell, I screamed and decided to never stop screaming, so I scream now until the staff, the orderlies and doctors all come as I fight with Meadowes, screaming and pulling at Duckie! Sharpness in arm, but I’ve got Duckie cradled to me as I fall.
I wake to the night and I’m back in my own room. The thin mattress on the old cot and the private room is all down to my Aunt Agatha. She put me here, after my parents, after I killed them, walking away to look in a store window. They screamed my name, ran for me and fell. The sound of train wheels, my fault, my fault, my fault. To cover up the sound, I scream, and scream, even when Meadowes comes in, dressing me up in something with too many buckles. The gag muffles my scream, but I still scream to cover the noise. There’s talking around me, but it doesn’t help against the noise in my head.
“Shut him up, Meadowes!”
“He won’t shut up without that damn duck!”
“Stupid doctor, ‘nerve specialist’ who doesn’t know how to keep these idiots calm.”
“Damn right, he doesn’t have to put up with the noise.”
“I’m going to dig that thing out of the trash.”
Meadowes snorts, annoyed at the other man for something. “After I pried it from Wooster, Glossop took it.”
“Damn! How long can Wooster keep this up?”
“Until he loses consciousness.”
“No doctors here to give him the drugs.”
“Other ways of doing it.”
“You’re supposed to be teaching me how to do this, Meadowes. So teach me.”
“My pleasure.”
I don’t like the low chuckle Meadowes gives, before he pulls me to a sitting position. I scream at him, try to tell him I’d be grateful for anything that stops the noise.
“The crazies hurt themselves all the time.” Meadowes says, before pulling me forward. He shoves backward and I hit something as hard as a brick wall.
I scream until everything hurts, my body from the needles, my throat from the screaming and my heart from the guilt. I scream, begging the universe to make it stop, all the noise and pain. It’s my fault, my fault, make it stop, let me stop!
“Sir, I have brought you something.” A soft, gentle voice, so out of place here.
I turn to see him, beg him to stop the noise. It’s hard to move, as I can’t remember the last time I could use my arms, but someone else helps. He turns me, and a see a strange sight. Kind eyes, dark eyebrows, dark hair, miraculously clean in this nightmare of a place. He’s got something on his noise, a bandage of some sort, and he’s wearing the same clothes I am. Well, not the same clothes, that would be awkward and a bit indecent. He’s wearing the washed out white clothes of patients, but on him they look neat.
“Mr. Wooster, I heard you lost something.”
Like a magician or some theatrical production, his hand moves and Duckie’s there. I stop, stop screaming, waiting for the noise. The kind man understands and gives Duckie a gentle squeeze, and I hear the sweetest sound in the world.
“What’d you do to that man?” A harsh voice breaks in, and I look up to see Meadowes stomping toward us.
“I found something of his, and was simply returning it.”
The kind man glances at Meadowes, but turns back so he can keep Duckie where I can see him.
Meadowes looks from me to the kind man, but comes to a quick decision. He gets to where he can speak softly to the kind man, threading a grubby hand in his hair and pulling.
It looks painful, but the kind man doesn’t resist, still keeping Duckie where I can see him. Duckie hears the words Meadowes speaks, absorbs them into his yellow, his spot of brightness in a dark place. Duckie takes in the words so they can’t hurt me, covering up the my fault, my fault of the train in my head.
“I heard about you. I don’t know how you got the judge to put you here instead of hard labor, but I won’t put up with it. You try any of that unnatural invert stuff on my watch, and it’ll be more than your nose that gets broke. You hear me, Reggie?”
“Yes sir.”
The kind man was very polite, but I could see something in his eyes. It took a while to place it, something I hadn’t seen much since I was tossed in here. Defiance, intelligence, a conviction that he was right? They’d probably beat that out of him before he was let out, beat him until he was cured of whatever his sin was.
“Good boy, Reggie.” Meadowes gives the dark hair a violent shake before releasing him.
“Sir, may I assist Mr. Wooster in removing the straight jacket?”
“Keep him quiet.” Meadowes turns and stomps away, out the door of my small cell.
When I look back at the kind man, this Reggie, he’s smoothed his hair back into place. He’s touching me, undoing the jacket I’m wearing, but so gently I don’t really feel it. He pulls it off, and blocks my view of Duckie for a moment. Before I can scream, Duckie is back and I try to convince numb arms to grab him so nobody can take him away again. My arm only flops, catching Reggie on the shoulder. He seems to understand, and puts my arm on Duckie. Gently, he pushes my arm so that Duckie is cradled to my chest. Should I thank him or warn him about the torture of being force feed? My raw, dry voice only manages a strange sound, but he understands.
“My name is Jeeves. Reginald Jeeves.”
I can’t speak, so I smile at him.
I perceived dearly that this cove was one of the world's workers, the sort no home should be without. For a moment I felt as if somebody had touched off a bomb inside the old bean and was strolling down my throat with a lighted torch, and then everything seemed suddenly to get all right. The sun shone in through the window; birds twittered in the tree-tops; and, generally speaking, hope dawned once more.*
*From Jeeves Takes Charge, this is how Bertie describes Jeeves restorative. Thought it appropriate, as in this story Jeeves is the restorative.
Right, and this is to take the taste of that out of your mouth!Ruber Duckie, he's the One!
